The Plague on the Saturdays
by Roxxi Roo
Summary: It's finally finished! The epic conclusion is here! Hope everyone liked it!
1. Chapter 1

The year was 1348; a terrible year in Europe, for this was the start of the Bubonic Plague, known more commonly as the Black Death. In the city of Paris alone, around 800 victims succumbed to this horrible illness every day. The symptoms were horrid, and the pain was unimaginable. One city that was being harshly stricken by the plague was Versailles, where our tale begins…

_Ring around the rosies,_

_Pocket full of posies,_

_Ashes, Ashes, _

_We all fall down._

The golden sun had just risen on the eastern French skyline, with the last traces of night easing into the daylight. The purple sky turned to pink, and finally faded to turquoise. Church bells tolled through the valleys and hills of Versailles, France, greeting the sunny day. A wooden cart was being pulled up a hill by two physicians, and inside the cart were a few dead, blackened bodies of the latest victims of the Black Death. The man on top was Doc Saturday, Drew Saturday's ex-husband. Although they were divorced, the peasant woman felt terrible, and she fell to her knees and wailed as he was dragged away to the local church, where he would be given his last rights before being buried in a mass funeral. Her son, Zak, joined her side, and they held each other close, weeping.

"He's in Heaven now; he's going to see God soon." Drew repeated this over and over to calm Zak, but mostly to reassure herself. They sat for a while and wallowed in their grief, watching the little cart until it went over the hill, fading into the distance. Drying her tears with her apron, the poor woman returned to work on the small field that her family had to grow crops. Zak came along to help, feeding their chickens and the few pigs they had for food. They labored thought the day, taking occasional breaks to simply hug one another at the loss of Zak's father. Drew would often think about what would happen if the plague ever reached their town, and now that it had, she was worried sick for her family. Chills ran down Zak's spine whenever he saw one of the body carts go by, wondering how many hearts were shattered as the people who knew them watched their loved ones die.

Around dinner time, as the day drew to a close, Drew's new husband returned home, with Zak's uncle close behind. The two men made their living as thieves, sneaking around at the market all day, subtly swiping some food or other goods from unsuspecting merchants. Occasionally, they would get caught, and a wild goose chase would follow, with an angry mob chasing them down the street, but they had somehow managed to avoid being arrested. Even though it was a dishonest way of life, the men managed to provide for their peasant family. Zak and Drew strolled back to the shack that they called home, and met with the thieves. After a kiss on the cheek from Drew's second husband, Leonidas Van Rook, she began to prepare supper, which was normally a little more than enough to keep everyone from starving.

"Hey, Doyle!" Zak said, trying to stay positive, so as not to oppress his uncle's normally cheerful mood.

"Hi, miniman" Doyle replied, still unaware of Doc's death.

"So, anything good at the market today?"

"It's a pretty good haul, if I do say so myself." The red haired man smiled, and swung the knapsack from his shoulder, its contents spilled onto the small table in the middle of the room. Van Rook did the same, causing the weak table to shift under the weight. A small cheese wheel, a bottle of red wine, a few shucks of corn, and various other fruits and vegetables covered the table, and Zak's mouth began to water at the sight of such a feast.

"Wow, good job!" Zak commented, his stepfather giving him a big hug, accompanied by a smile.

The peasant family gathered around the table, and sat down for the best meal they had in weeks. During the meal, Drew broke the news of Doc's death, a feeling of gloom hanging above them like a raincloud. Doc's little house had already been burned to the ground, the same fate of every infected house, an effort to stop the plague from spreading. They all said a prayer for Doc, and continued to inhale their dinner.

"I hate to discuss death, but everyone at the market was raving about the shift in the government. King Argost died last night, so there'll be a big uproar over who will replace him. The plague caught up to him; turns out that being royalty doesn't make you immortal" Van Rook said in his Russian accent, having traveled all the way to France to escape the ruthless czars of his homeland.

"Argost died? He probably got infected by someone in his inner circle" Zak said gloomily, having been a big fan of the former king.

"I say he deserved it, that uptight scoundrel had it coming" Doyle chimed in, running his fingers through his bizarre hairstyle.

"That's terrible! No one should have to suffer from such a terrible sickness! Besides, he wasn't the worst king I've seen" Drew scolded her brother, casting a hostile look towards him.

"Sorry, Sis, but maybe some people have-"

"Come on, you're both too old for sibling rivalry" Van Rook interrupted, rolling his blue eyes the way he always does when he's angry.


	2. Chapter 2

"Come on, you're both too old for sibling rivalry" Van Rook interrupted, rolling his blue eyes the way he always does when he's angry. "We've all had a long day, so let's just go to bed. Tomorrow will be better, right?"

It was quite cold outside, their little shack not keeping much warmth in. Doyle lay next to Zak, Van Rook sharing a patch of straw with his wife. The family huddled together, everyone fearing that they would fall to hypothermia or the Black Plague.

A few days later, while Drew and Zak were having a small lunch, the rest of the family burst through the door, breathing heavily. Drew was immediately concerned, noticing the fear and anticipation in her husband's eyes.

"Drew! Word is that they crowned a new king today, and I think he's going to be even more brutal than Argost!" Van Rook huffed, still trying to catch his breath from the long run home from the market.

"Who is it?" Drew inquired, her eyes widening.

"Francis. He's a twisted kid" Doyle answered.

"Epsilon's son?" Zak chimed in.

"The one and only" his uncle replied.

"But that's not the worst part" Van Rook added, removing a scroll from his bag. He unrolled it on the kitchen table, revealing two drawings: one of himself, the other of Doyle. "Doyle got caught stealing, and the new royal guards were all over us. We escaped, but they got a good look at us, and now there's wanted posters everywhere!" the Russian man explained, casting a dark glance at his accomplice.

"You can't go back ever again, you'll get caught! How are we supposed to eat? Our little field isn't enough for four people!" Drew exclaimed, her face slowly turning red.

"Don't worry, sis, I'm not afraid of a little kid. We could go undercover, and manage to steal something." Doyle stated, a note of pride in his voice.

"Alright, but don't get caught. Who knows what Francis does to thieves" Drew said, hugging the two men. "I don't know what I would do without you two."

Drew let out a deep sigh as the thieves departed, worrying about Doyle and Van Rook.

"Hey Mom, can I tag along with them?" Zak asked.

"Absolutely not, young man" Drew responded, receiving a disappointed pout form her son.

A few weeks passed, with Zak and Drew working at home, and the thieves doing what they did best. Van Rook and Doyle stole quite a bit, bringing home fairly large meals, and some extra goodies for Zak. They managed to disguise themselves and slip under King Francis' guards, elusively pocketing whatever they liked. Van Rook had formed little itchy red spots all over his arms and legs, but assumed it was just the pollen in the air. Drew's husband actually skipped his usual heists for a few days, staying in bed, dealing with random aches and pains. Although Drew was concerned for her husband's health and her brother's safety, they continued to travel to the market almost every day for some more thievery. But one chilly day, Van Rook came home, but he was alone.

"Drew! Doyle's gone!" the Russian man hollered, almost tackling his wife as he sprinted through the field.

"Where is he? What happened?" Drew asked, the panic rising in her voice. Zak rushed over to her side, and gazed at his step father.

"One of the merchants recognized him while he robbed the man. He just reached out and snatched Doyle's hat, and his crazy hair gave it away! We made a run for it, but someone tripped him, and the guards got him! I suspect they took him to the palace, but I'm not sure." Van Rook explained, genuinely concerned for his partner in crime.

"Not Doyle! Oh, this is terrible, I knew this would happen!" Drew shouted, tears rolling freely down her cheeks. She embraced her son, who also began to cry for his uncle.

"Drew, I know this is tough for all of us, but it's about to get even tougher." His wife gave him a puzzled look. Van Rook closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then removed his glove and rolled up his sleeves. His fingers were completely black, and smelled of rotting flesh. His wrists were beginning to darken, the gruesome color creeping up to his elbows. Drew screamed, dropping to her knees and sobbing.

"Leonidas! No, this can't be happening to you! First Doc, now you…" Drew's voice trailed off as she gazed at her husband, her face completely wet from her tears. The man simply stood there, wanting to hold her in his strong arms, but he knew he couldn't.

"Alright, let's take a deep breath, go inside, and figure out how we're going to deal with this" Zak said, trying to stop his voice from shaking. He supported his mother on his shoulder, and his stepfather trailed after them into the house. They made a space for him to lie down, trying to keep him comfortable. Drew and Zak knelt next to their dying family member.

"Leonidas… I can't lose you or Doyle" Drew whispered.

"You don't have to lose either of us. Go save your brother, I'll make it. As long as there's hope, I'll be fine" Van Rook responded.

"But the symptoms are terrible, and most people… don't survive more than three days" Drew said, trying to push the gruesome thought out of her mind.

"I know, but that's why you have Zak. He can stay with me, and you can save Doyle. Besides, Zak has told me that he dreams of becoming a doctor one day" Van Rook said, trying to stay positive.

"But he'll get the Plague too! And I can't lose all three of you" Drew wailed, her sobs returning.

"Mom, I'll do it, I'll be fine. There are a few things that are supposed to cure it, and one of them is bound to work!" Zak reassured. There was a long silence as everyone thought of the best action to take. The woman stood, and walked over to the wooden chest in the corner of the room. She opened it, and pulled out a long sword, housed in a black sheath. The sword belonged to Van Rook, and was kept there in case of an English invasion.

"I'm going to get Doyle" Drew said confidently, strapping the sword to her back. She knelt next to Van Rook again, and they shared a passionate kiss. Zak watched, but was too frightened to be grossed out.

"You shouldn't have done that, Drew. Now you'll get sick too."

"I don't care. There isn't much left to lose, anyway. I'll be back with Doyle. Zak, take good care of your stepfather. If something happens… just remember I love you both" the woman said, fighting back her tears as she dashed out the door, disappearing as dusk began to fall.


	3. Chapter 3

The unfamiliar stone walls were menacing, keeping the prisoners in and the rest of the world out. A tiny window let in a stream of light from above. Doyle sat in the darkest corner of his small cell, his stomach tying itself in knots as a wave of fear made him shiver. He had been there for less than a day, but he was already lonely and nervous. Suddenly, a nearby guard pulled a key ring from his belt and unlocked the cell, attaching a chain to the man's manacled wrists.

"The king would like to have a word with you" the man said in a deep voice, yanking sharply on the chains, causing Doyle to wince. He was led up two flights of stairs and down a long corridor, until they approached a heavy oak door at the end. The guard opened it, and dragged the prisoner into the grand throne room.

Doyle was shocked at the amount of shining marble in the large room. The entire ceiling was painted a deep blue and sprinkled with silver stars, giving the illusion of a night sky. A long red carped ran down the length of the room, flanked with a dozen guards, leading to a silver throne with black cushions. On the elaborate chair sat King Francis, a scrawny, pale, eleven-year-old boy. He wore all green robes with a black cape, and had his pale green hair flipped over one eye. His golden crown was encrusted with emeralds, and matched his staff. A sly smile twisted his features as he relished in the sight of the powerless man.

"Kneel before me, knave" Francis commanded. Doyle didn't move or speak; he just stared at his captor defiantly.

"Oh, you're a stubborn one, aren't you? When I give you an order, you will obey me!" he said severely, and nodded to one of his guards, who punched Doyle in the gut and pushed him to his knees. He glared at the child, anger shining in his eyes, still silent.

"So, you've been arrested for stealing, but you're not the only thief. Where is your accomplice?" the king asked.

"I'll never tell you anything, and I'll never regret my crime. It was for my family's survival." Doyle replied, almost hissing.

"Okay, have it your way, then. I have ways of making you talk." He leaned forward and tilted the thief's head up so he could stare directly into his eyes.

"And if you still refuse to give information, I will hunt your family down, and you will watch them die, one by one." Francis promised, smirking as he sensed Doyle's fear. The young ruler recoiled and looked appalled as Doyle spat in his eye, rubbing it with the back of his hand.

"Well, Doyle, I've changed my mind. Rather than barbaric forms of torture, you will be executed in two days at sundown" he said in a calm, monotonous voice. The condemned man found it disturbing that Francis could remain so calm all the time, showing a very limited range of emotions. With a snap of his pale fingers, Francis ordered the guards to haul Doyle to his feet and drag him down the hall, back to the dark dungeons under the castle. He gulped, and stared his captor directly in the eye until he was out of sight.


	4. Chapter 4

Drew crept along the castle walls, remaining in the shadows. Her main focus was finding Doyle, but she couldn't get her dying husband off her mind. She sighed quietly, wishing that she could be at his bedside, reassuring him that he was going to live. The brave woman was thankful that she had the cover of night to keep her from being spotted by the castle guards. She looked along the bottom of the walls, hoping to see the small openings that served as windows for the dungeon. After sneaking around elusively for what seemed like forever, she spotted a small, rectangular hole in the wall, with three bars wedged in between the stone. Kneeling down, Drew peered in, hoping that there were no guards on the other side.

"Doyle? Are you in there?" she whispered. Hope grew within her as she heard rustling from below. The prisoner stood and approached the bars cautiously, his face still hidden by shadows.

"Drew?" a voice asked. It clearly belonged to her brother, who climbed up and stuck his hand through the bars. The woman smiled and gripped Doyle's hand tightly.

"Doyle, thank God you're still alive! Come on; let's get you out of here."

"Sorry, but there's no way out. The whole castle is swarming with guards, and any escape attempt would end with… death." Doyle's tone dropped, the man clearly having lost all hope. "Well, death isn't an option at this point. Our good friend Francis says my time is up in two days at sundown. It's a public execution. Oh, and be sure to extend the invitation to Zak and Van Rook for me." The condemned man smirked, pleased with his own sarcasm. Drew's expression turned to one of shock, not wanting to believe that her brother's life was in jeopardy. She decided not to tell her brother about Van Rook's illness, so as not to upset him.

"Doyle, you listen to me. I'm not going to lose you. Your thievery was for a just cause, it was a crime of love. I won't let you die" Drew promised, her fiery temper surfacing. She was squeezing her brother's hand so hard that his fingertips were turning white.

"I have faith in you, but how are you gonna pull it off?" Doyle inquired.

"It's called improvising" Drew responded, winking at her brother, who was once again beaming with his usual happiness. Doyle kissed her hand and nodded, confident that his sister would come through for him.

"Stay safe, and give Zak and Van Rook my best!" Doyle said as Drew dashed away, disappearing into the shadows.


	5. Chapter 5

The night of Doyle's execution had arrived, ushered in by a windy afternoon. Drew had come back to the window every night with some stolen food for Doyle, who hadn't been fed at all since his capture. Doyle had counted the hours until his death, estimating the time by watching the sun and the moon. The time had arrived, for the same guard that dragged him into to see his captor was back, holding a short iron chain. The prisoner glanced down at his irritated wrists, the manacles digging into his flesh, leaving open, infected sores. He was startled by the sound of the cell door sliding open, followed by the chain being clipped onto his wrists. Doyle gritted his teeth at the sharp pain that ensued, the guard smirking, relishing in the man's agony. He was pulled forward, and yanked up the stone staircase. He fought defiantly the whole time, digging his heels into the floor, pulling away from the guard, anything to delay his death. The prisoner received a strong slap across the face for his resistance. Realizing that death was inevitable, and losing faith in his sister's plan, Doyle hung his head and sighed, allowing himself to be dragged to his doom.

The moment they reached the courtyard, the condemned man gazed up fearfully at the large wooden block that stood on a platform in the center of the grassy field. Doyle scanned the crowd that had gathered to watch, looking for Drew. He couldn't see her; so instead, he turned his attention to King Francis, who was perched on a massive black stallion near the block. His cold green eyes swept over Doyle, the young king smirking at his pathetic prisoner's tattered clothes and the smudges of dirt that decorated his face. Doyle responded with an icy glare, pure hatred coursing through him. Francis was completely unaffected, feeling no remorse, carelessly casting human life aside. Hesitantly, the king's prisoner forced himself to climb the small wooden stairs that led to the platform. Doyle shuddered as he noticed the wicker basket that was placed on one side of the block. He continued to scan the crowd, desperately searching for his sister, biting his lip nervously, his stomach flipping with anticipation and fear.

The huddled crowd fell silent as a drum sounded in a rhythmic beat, marking the beginning of an execution. Doyle grunted as the guard pushed him down, forcing him to kneel, facing the crowd. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the executioner, a burly man clothed in black leather, and missing several teeth. He held his sharpened axe like a scythe, eager to do his job.

"This man kneels before you today, charged with numerous counts of thievery" one of Francis' servants announced, reading off of a small scroll. The man was quite large, and read the charges in a gruff voice. Slowly, he turned towards Doyle, and continued to read aloud, a note of arrogance in his voice.

"Doyle Blackwell, by order of King Francis, you shall be beheaded for your crimes at dusk. May God have mercy on your soul."

The prisoner's heart started pounding against his chest as the guard placed his foot on Doyle's back, forcing him to place his neck on the edge of the block. The executioner approached, his face twisted into a vicious smile. A drum roll began as he raised the axe, the last sliver of sunshine catching the blade, causing it to shine. Doyle sighed, realizing that Drew wasn't coming to save him, then inhaled as he prepared to die. Gazing into the woven basket, he wondered how much it would hurt, and what happened after death. Glancing up at the axe, he saw his own reflection, and it shocked him to see how weak he looked, how vulnerable he was to the black shroud of demise. The axe stopped moving, just for a moment, as time seemed to stand still for Doyle, the man fighting back tears as he thought of Zak, Drew, and Van Rook, and how much he would miss them. Then, it began to descend, the executioner swinging it down with all his strength. Doyle shut his eyes, and then…


	6. Chapter 6

The executioner fell like a tree, an arrow penetrating his neck, scarlet blood pouring from the exit wound. He was dead before he hit the platform, his eyes glazing over. Doyle's eyes darted around furiously, searching for the archer that saved his life. His gaze fell on Drew, the white haired woman standing in the very back of the frightened crowd, holding a longbow.

"Doyle, RUN!" she shrieked. The prisoner rose and leapt off the platform swiftly, his hands still chained in front of him. He barely knew what was happening, the man still shocked from his close call with death, but he did realize that his salvation had come, and that Drew would never let him down. He caught up with his sister, who was already sprinting through the fields that surrounded the castle, headed for the village. King Francis reacted instantly, ordering his guards to retrieve both of them, dead or alive. A shadow of anger fleeted across his features as he kicked his stallion, which reared up on its hind legs and galloped after them.

They ran for what seemed like an eternity, driving themselves to keep going, and not stop until they reached their village. Drew dared to glance over her shoulder, and spotted Francis, scowling at his prey, a sadistic spark in his beady black eyes. Finally, the village appeared, getting closer with each step. With their target in sight, they dashed into the narrow streets, sure that they would lose the pursuing king. Doyle skidded to a halt, grabbed his sister's arm, and darted into an alley, which ended in a high stone wall. They were trapped, and running out of option as the sound of thundering hooves came closer. A huge smile appeared on Doyle's face as he realized the only way out was… up. He crouched down and cupped his hands, making a suitable step for Drew.

"Quick, I'll launch you over the wall, then you can pull me up" Doyle whispered frantically. Drew nodded, and in mere seconds, they made it to the other side, just as King Francis and his guards reached the alley. Realizing that he had been outsmarted by an escapee and his sister, his pale face turned scarlet, anger rising in his chest. His cry of defeat rang through the small town, people retreating into their shacks at the horrible noise. Stealthily, Doyle and Drew sprinted to the other side of town as the sun sank over the hills of France, where their rickety old shack awaited them.


	7. Chapter 7

Zak was kneeling on the floor next to his dying stepfather, soaking a rag in some kind of herbal remedy for the plague. He plopped it over a large, black blotch in the middle of the man's chest, and pressed it down, Van Rook wincing in pain. The young boy flinched and his stepfather groaned loudly as the door flew open and banged into the wall so hard, Zak was sure the door would fall off its hinges. Zak beamed at the sight of his mother and his uncle, who were mostly unharmed. They were panting, their chests heaving in and out in an attempt to catch their breath, but managed to smile, despite the traumatic events they had witnessed.

"Mom! Doyle!" he shouted, springing up off the floor and into Drew's open arms, while Doyle joined in on the group hug. Zak's smile evaporated as he noticed Doyle's raw, infected wrists.

"What did Francis do to you? I swear, I'll knock his teeth out if I ever get my hands on him…" Zak growled, swooping over to the kitchen to prepare a treatment for Doyle's lacerations. Doyle waved to Van Rook sympathetically, the sick man nodding in response. Drew turned to her husband, who forced a smile.

"Oh, Drew! I knew you could do it!" he said, attempting to sit up to hug his wife. Instead, he moaned as his back started throbbing, and laid back down on the straw. Concerned, Drew crawled into the little bed next to him, pressing herself against him.

"How have you been feeling?" she asked quietly. Van Rook took her hands in his, and stared her straight in the eye.

"Drew… I think this is the end for me"

"Leonidas, don't even think that! If you stay optimistic, it'll probably get better."

"I hope so. But if not… I want to die with you by my side" he whispered, breathing deeply to subdue his tears. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her passionately. Drew stifled her sobs, believing that her husband would pull through and continue to share his life with her. The two lovers drifted off to dreamland as Doyle and Zak got ready for bed, happy to have a complete family once again.


	8. Chapter 8

Drew slowly opened her eyes the next morning, greeted by a steady rain outside their shack. A puddle had formed near the door, the cold rain pouring in from the hole in the roof. The woman turned her head to find her husband sleeping peacefully, his blackened arm still resting on her slender waist. Doyle and Zak were still asleep in the corner, snoring loudly. Zak must have been fighting in his dreams, because he suddenly kicked his uncle in the back; Doyle responded by grunting loudly, bringing a smile to Drew's lips.

"Morning, dear" Drew whispered to Van Rook, kissing him on the nose, which always made him smile. She found it odd when he didn't move. Gently, she moved his arm and let it drop, then sat up next to him. "Leonidas? Are you feeling okay?" she asked, starting to worry about her husband. When he didn't react, she instantly thought the worst, and her heart hammered against her chest. Drew laid down next to her husband and placed her hand on his chest, awaiting the familiar, hypnotic thumping of Van Rook's heart. She waited for his muscular chest to rise one more time, but pure, scalding tears began to flow from her eyes when his heart didn't beat, and his chest didn't rise.

"Van Rook? Wake up, come on, talk to me. Leonidas, you can't leave me!" Drew yelled in a crackly voice, waking up Zak and Doyle.

"You can't go! Come back to me! Come back, come back…" she trailed off, collapsing over her husband's blackened body. Zak and Doyle had joined her side, both of them speechless with grief. Drew's son stared at his stepfather's body, tears cascading from his brown eyes. Doyle rubbed his sister's shoulder, choking back a sob, trying to convince himself that his partner-in-crime wasn't in pain anymore. In the midst of his death, Van Rook wore a subtle, permanent smile, the last bit of peace he felt before he died. Drew rose, feeling numb. Slowly, she walked over to the same box that held her husband's sword, and pulled out an artifact from Van Rook's journey to France. It was a mercenary helmet, made of metal, with a lightning bolt shaped crack above one eye. It doubled as a mask, the faceplate frightening, with red eyes and a maniacal smile. Before coming to France, the Russian man had stolen it and used it as a disguise to travel across Europe without being detected by the dictator that was hunting him. She remembered when she first met Van Rook, how she had immediately fallen for the man behind the mask.

Drew knelt next to her husband once more, ignoring the confused glances from the rest of the family. She bent over him, rubbing a small black patch on his neck, and gave him one last kiss, feeling the last bit of warmth left in his lips. Her crystal, shining tears landed in the corner of his eye, making it look like Van Rook was crying too. Tenderly, she lifted his head, slipped his helmet on, and gently laid him back down on their straw bed.

"Good bye, Leonidas" Drew sobbed. She ran her slender fingers along the helmet, and brought the mask down to cover his face. The faceplate clicked softly as it was locked in, never to be removed again.

The sun had almost completed its descent over the horizon, the first stars appearing in the early evening sky. A warm summer breeze drifted through the little field, the corn stalks rustling quietly. Doyle, Zak, and Drew walked somberly through their pathetic field, spreading Van Rook's ashes. A small wooden box contained the grey remains of Drew's late husband. The white haired woman scooped out small handfuls of ash and spread them over the rows of vegetables, hoping Van Rook's spirit would bless the crops for years to come. Doyle and Zak gazed at the sunset, numb with grief. Drew walked ahead of them, her skirts fluttering as the wind picked up slightly, tossing another handful of ashes into the air. The widow sang softly as her tears fell to the earth; a morbid song of death.

"_Ring around the rosies,_

_Pocket full of posies,_

_Ashes, Ashes,_

_We all fall down."_


End file.
